Zero.

Chapter Thirty

AGENT ZERO
I OPENED my eyes slowly. The grogginess from the heavy dose of anesthesia hadn’t worn off yet, and the fog over my mind made it difficult to focus on where I was. From the gray and black marble color scheme, I knew I wasn’t in the white medical room anymore.

I was in Chief’s room.

 The ache that had covered my body was dull compared to what I felt earlier, but still present. I moved my arms and legs to test them. Whatever the doctor had done had made moving around more tolerable, but I still didn’t understand why Chief had even bothered to get me medical attention if he was just going to lock me up.

Usually, after a mission ended, One and I were injured in some way or the other, but when we were put under, the Machines worked to heal any wounds while we Slept. Chief going out of his way to patch me up didn’t make sense to me. But although I couldn’t fully understand what was going on, my fight or flight instincts kicked in and I realized that I didn’t want to be laying down when Chief decided to come back.

Pushing the thick comforter off me, I gingerly placed my feet on the soft carpet. The flowing white gown I now wore tickled at my ankles, letting me know that someone had dressed me. Who that someone was, was a thought I would think of later. Right now, I had to figure out where Agent One was. I was supposed to be locked up in the dungeons, not holed up in Chief’s room.

We had a short window to release the documents and take down Chief and although my body protested with every move I made, I didn’t have the option of staying still. So, I limped my way across the room, scouring the large space for a weapon. In the far corner of the room was a small comb sitting on his dresser. It wasn’t my first choice, but anything was better than nothing.

Limping over, I grabbed the comb and tucked it into the waistband of my underwear, just as the door swung open.

I jumped back, wincing when my injured leg scraped against the corner of the dresser. Chief walked in slowly, looking from his disheveled sheets to where I stood with pursed lips.

“You’ve reopened your wound.” He stated. Despite the fact that I could feel the blood seeping through my fresh bandages, I kept my eyes on him. When he took a step towards me, I mirrored it, but with nowhere to go, I realized I was still cornered.

He shut the door of his room and clicked the lock on. Without taking his eyes from mine he removed his suit jacket, tossing it on the bed and revealing a crisp gray button down. I thought he was going to walk towards me, but he went into his connecting bathroom instead, before coming out with gauze and a few alcohol swabs.

“Sit down.” He ordered. Nodding at the chair to his left.

“I’m good, thanks.” I responded. The fact that he seemed so calm was grating on my nerves.

I was finally face to face with the person who had caused so much pain. The person who had killed Anthony, and he looked as unbothered as if we were discussing the weather.

I could feel the point of the comb scratching against my waist, and I ached to pull it out and jab him in his face.

“That wasn’t a question. Sit down.” He repeated.

The tiniest flicker of something passed across his eyes, and it gave me a sick sting of joy. I never understood why Agent One loved getting under his skin, until now.

More than anything, I wanted to get under that stoic expression he wore and see him cringe. The urge to make him pay for what he did was making my head dizzy. I sat down slowly, waiting for him to get close enough to attack.

Sighing, he bent over to rewrap my wound. All I had to do was hit him hard enough to disorient him, and I could grab the-

“What are you doing!” I yelled, as I felt his hands pass the wound, but continue to go further.